


Arrival

by Bekaylo



Series: Arezzo [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, HYDRA Husbands, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Pool Sex, Relationship(s), Rumrollins, Summer Vacation, mention of anal sex, mention of rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekaylo/pseuds/Bekaylo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was nothing, this was normal, Brock remembered, this was part of the deal. It was just Jack, his buddy, his second, his rock and they understood each other. He just wanted to bring Brock here because of his grandmother.</p><p>Of course it was that Jack wanted to see Brock relax and enjoy the break…  Jack was thoughtful like that. Jack wanted to watch his beautiful olive skin turn bronze in the sunshine, see him smile, taste wine with a tongue in his mouth… Nothing wrong with any of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Third instalment of the Arezzo series.

Bright, late summer afternoon sunlight hit Brock like the warm blast from an oven door as he got out of the cab. He was wearing shades, looking and feeling weirdly hung over post flight. Jack emerged from the other side of the cab also in shades, dressed in a grey shirt and lightweight jeans. He looked relaxed and refreshed, glanced around the area outside the hotel and pushed his shades up on the top of his head with a satisfied smile.

Jack looked fucking hot as usual and Brock felt like shit mixed with arousal. His dick twitched a little, he was still tingling slightly from the fuck in the plane toilet, in a raw, moist kind of way. The memory of stretching and the resulting sting of his own Dude Wipes was still fresh in his ass.

Jack and the cab driver started taking out the bags from the trunk. Brock stretched, his back cracked softly and he noticed in the corner of his eye a man sitting on some steps that lead off the hotel yard.

There was something oddly familiar about him, but since landing Brock had noticed seeing people in the streets that had his own look about them. For all he knew there could be cousins of his walking around here. Not that that mattered particularly to him.

What made more of an impression right then was the realization after a split second that the appreciative grin on the man’s face was clearly due to the stretching and raising of Brock’s arms, the fabric of his shirt leaving the waist of his soft sweatpants and the brief display of abs. Brock was used to that, didn’t dislike it altogether, it was not as if he had never had a stranger appreciating his abs before - and got a good hard fuck out of that interest. There was nothing like getting his ass pounded raw by a non-judgemental stranger while he jerked himself off and thought of Jack. All the action and none of the strings, sometimes he needed that. But he was not here for that. It was broad daylight and it did seem a bit gay,somehow. 

Brock dropped his arms deliberately casually and turned to take his wheeled case from the driver. In the hotel reception, Jack immediately spoke first to the receptionist, who confirmed their reservation and reached for a card key for the room.

 

Brock yawned and rested his forearm on the desk. The female receptionist was cute, kind of. In a general sense. Her eyes fell on Brock’s sinewy muscled forearm for a second longer than necessary and he gave her a friendly white-toothed grin. She saw all kinds of people day in, day out for a living but she clearly seemed to appreciate the aesthetics of Brock and Jack.

There was a brief twitch across her face when Jack’s fingers brushed hers in taking the key. Well… Brock was happily accustomed to people finding him good looking facially and he fucking earned it, as regards physique, with how hard he worked on his appearance. Jack … Jack was looking fucking hot as usual, with that semi-mullet hairstyle he refused to let Brock do anything about and his lack of full-body wax. Not affected by the long haul, dry, pressurized flight, in control.

Brock had kind of assumed he might be the one to speak to people and order things here in Arezzo, having enough conversational Italian for that. But Jack was taking charge and doing the talking right away - the receptionist spoke English, people like that were usually expected to know a few languages. If Brock hadn’t been so dull and wiped from the flight he might have chimed in.

But Jack was saying “Yeah, two whole weeks away from work with my partner here, looking forward to it!” and the receptionist was looking rapt at Jack’s rugged angular face, the way those shades sat on his tawny head and how he looked like a tall, well-built action movie star on vacation or something…

She grinned and was saying ‘how nice’ and ‘fuga romantica?’ Jack frowned and smiled politely - for once Brock caught something and Jack didn’t. Partner, indeed - well they were partners on many levels and he could hardly say ‘with my Commander’ but romantic getaway for fuck’s sake...

Brock snatched the key on impulse from Jack and practically stomped towards the elevator. He felt grouchy suddenly and he felt like shit more than ever.  
 

At the desk, all that was left for was for Jack was to say “Thank you, ma’am, grazie, Signorina,” to the receptionist. Jack gave her his unintentionally predatory scarred-chin smile, which made her blush, for some reason.

She was kind of cute, Jack could see that, but he was not interested. Her kind of cute involved dark eyes and olive skin and it just reminded him of the little asshole he had come here with. Brock was the only person he was interested in sexually or on any level, really. He picked up all the bags quickly and set off after Brock.

Brock had opened the door to the suite and had walked in, already taking in his surroundings when Jack squeezed and staggered through the narrow doorway with all his bags and Brock’s. 

Brock approached a window and frowned at the view, wondering why he was slightly uncomfortable at Jack bringing him here for this break. Sunlight shone on the partial view of the Piazza Grande, the main square where a historic Saracen joust was held twice a year. Brock had seen pictures of Arezzo as a matter of interest and talked about it with his Nona a lot last year before she died. She had been four when her parents emigrated to the States, but she had acquired enough knowledge of the place from their memories to feel like she had known it longer. Brock had wanted to see it - They would come here together, he would damn well take leave and find the time… of course he hadn’t. Brock sighed. 

Jack had chosen a modern, airy, self catering kitchen combined with living area - and one bedroom. Jack had considered booking a ‘bridal suite’, but he was taking this seriously. Jack wanted to keep things smooth. Brock still seemed discomfited, however, few things outside of work and sex were ever completely smooth with the little fucker.

He remained at the window, while Jack pushed his baggage and Brock’s to the side wall for now and wandered over.

“Okay?” Jack asked, his chin brushing over the back of Brock’s head, just casual, of course, a side effect of being that close and a head taller. Subtle contact.

“Fine,” murmured Brock. He felt slightly dry and bleary from hours on the pressurized plane in fact. He decided that was why he was feeling so prickly and unsettled and he felt slightly better with that big solid mass right up against him. 

“Go out and get a bite, look around, late, hmm?” suggested Jack. His left hand strayed around Brock’s hip and lightly cupped his groin. Nothing subtle about it.

This was nothing, this was normal, Brock remembered, this was part of the deal. Jack was a good looking man, gave Brock the kind of sex he wanted along with the kind he, Jack, wanted without it seeming gay. It was just Jack, his buddy, his second, his rock and they understood each other. He just wanted to bring Brock here because of his grandmother.

Of course it was that Jack wanted to see Brock relax and enjoy the break… Jack was thoughtful like that. Jack wanted to watch his beautiful olive skin turn bronze in the sunshine, see him smile, taste wine with a tongue in his mouth, finger him under the Etruscan cypresses and fuck him raw by the pool… Nothing wrong with any of that. 

Jack slipped his hand down the waistband of Brock’s pants, found the sides of Brock’s dick with his long fingers, his gun callouses found the best spots to give friction over Calvin Klein underwear. Brock’s breath hitched and he said, shakily, “There’s a pool. There's-a-pool out back,”.

 

Balancing on his toes with knees bent in lightly chlorinated pool water, Brock was coming to appreciate Jack’s generosity with this vacation more and more. Still feeling unrefreshed and dryly groggy from the flight, the water was both relaxing and invigorating. He stretched out his arms and let it buoy him, wriggling his toes against the small marble tiles for purchase. The light reflections from the water surface on the bottom of the pool made mottled patterns Brock noticed. How often did he notice details like that normally, he wondered. He was unwinding already and it felt good.

The weather was hot in Arezzo and the pool water maybe slightly colder than the ambient air, but that was not the reason for Brock’s tingling goosebumps when the water stirred behind him and Jack’s arms slid around his chest. They were both naked in the private pool attached to their suite and a combination of the mile high fuck on the plane and Brock’s determination to give Jack a very special thank you for all this was making Brock hard, now.

Jack closed his eyes and briefly nuzzled the damp, buzzed hair at the back of Brock’s head. He smelled of his hair products, he was warm from the sun and he pressed against Jack underwater.Jack had bent his knees also and could feel Brock brush side to side lightly against his thighs - in particular those two asscheeks and the distinct cleft Jack knew and loved. That ass was the only soft place on Brock’s muscular body these days and that was only if Jack took a handful or two and squeezed. Jack was hard too now and guessed thankfully the skinny dipping idea meant Brock wanted a post flight fuck - well Jack had groped him a little after all and what better way to keep Brock in a relaxed mood.

It put a tiny cloud on Jack’s immediate horizon when his first idea of how to start those proceedings might be to grab the longer part of Brock’s hair and dunk him a couple of times, playfully - Jack imagined him coming up spluttering and fighting so that Jack would just have to press him up against the side of the pool and fuck the outrage out of him.

That’s how it usually worked and it worked for both of them, Jack had to admit, but he wanted this to be different - they were on vacation after all, a break from routine.

However, it wasn't often that Brock directed things in their private lives, but it had been he who insisted they test the pool by skinny dipping and now he turned in Jack’s arms and put his hands on Jack’s shoulders, pushing insistently. He was strong and Jack stumbled back creating a tiny wave as Brock shoved,he was grabbing Brock more for balance and grinning in delight at the eager, excited expression on his friend’s face.

“Sit up on the side,” insisted Brock, in almost his commander-voice. “Up.”

Jack glanced back to check his bearings and put his hands on the pool edge behind him. “What’s all this?” he asked, in a pleasant, indulgent tone that just sometimes Brock found patronizing these days, but was clearly far too relaxed and pleased with life to object to right now. “I thought we wanted pool sex,”

“I do,” said Brock, standing in the water, moved in between Jack’s legs as the taller man hauled himself up and sat on the pool edge. Brock slid his hands onto Jack’s hips, one each side and cast a hungry glance over Jack’s lower body. “First I’ve got something for you.” Brock’s voice had lowered to a soft growl and he was looking fixedly at Jack’s dick, his thumbs stroking over Jack’s lower abdomen.

Jack chuckled softly and shuffled his legs apart more, leaning back and smiling down at Brock, who moved forward and almost reverently slid two fingers around the base of his friend's cock. Brock liked to suck Jack’s dick, it seemed to be his sincerest gesture of thanks, his only way of making anything like an apology and just something he seemed to think was the ultimate way of showing affection and doing something good for Jack.

Crossing his ankles tight over the back of Brock’s submerged thighs Jack felt a tiny flicker of unease as his friend took one of his hands and placed it over the back of his head. Brock seemed to want Jack’s hand like that, as if forcing him, restraining him when he sucked him off. It was one of the many masochistic things Jack found unsettling about Brock lately. Often they were little touches like that, which could pass for being almost symbolic. 

One the one hand, Brock had always taken Jack's lead generally in their personal dynamic though Brock was the one who was a STRIKE team lead and the one who had ever shown any interest in advancing himself professionally in that way. Jack had an acknowledged expertise in demolitions, was sought after for bomb disposal and interrogation .He was regarded as a field agent with a cool pragmatic head on physically devastating shoulders and Brock seemed to view him that way as a friend and fuckbuddy as much as he viewed him that way as his SIC. 

Jack did think Brock was a capable commander - he had invested years making sure Brock blossomed in that way, he always thought he had it in him but needed some careful personal management to ensure he fulfilled that potential. Brock was hot-headed sometimes and hyper-sensitive but Jack was always there to ground him.

He made excuses to himself that Brock’s sexual preferences were just a little quirk. But increasingly he couldn't call someone wanting to be fucked dry and unprepped more often than not, wanting to be spanked and ordered around anything other than a ‘pain slut’. Worse, the fact that Jack quite enjoyed obliging him didn't fit with how he wanted to be. Not with Brock, he did not want to be in some kind of consenting domestic abuse relationship as the abuser, it was too much like - too much like things he didn’t care to remember himself.

Jack gasped softly just then as Brock started running his tongue around the head of Jack’s dick, testing, circling and flicking like a curious little snake, his eyes flicking up to Jack with a mischievous look. Jack was relieved he was not going straight for the deep throat in the light of what he had been just thinking, but as Brock began to involve his lips in the activity, Jack’s train of thought was lost in the moment. 

 

Still lost on a calm descent into pleasure, Jack thought again, it wasn’t right. The soft warm wet snuggling presence down there was everything he wanted, But the things he asked for - or often didn’t directly ask for but engineered because he had a mass of fragile masculinity to maintain - Jack was still too happy to give. He knew the codes for Brock’s needs, but Jack was tiring of codes. 

Jack shuddered a little now because Brock was licking hard and slow up from the base of his cock, over the head, nibbling the tip gently. Brock had slipped his hand down from the base and was stroking his fingers over Jack’s balls. There were good reasons why Brock and Jack both appreciated the gun callouses on each other’s fingers and this was one of Jack’s particular  
favourites. His own hand involuntarily tightened on the back of Brock’s head and neck and earned an appreciative little hum.

Brock flicked those eager eyes up to Jack, swirled his tongue deliciously for good measure and went open-mouth and deep over Jack’s dick, lips closing and sucking hard. There was a loud disturbance in the pool water as Brock shifted his stance to get closer, further up with Jack’s lower legs still hugging his thighs. Jack groaned loudly and straightened his back.

Brock had both hands on Jack’s. hips now, kneading, head back swallowing Jack all the way down, grunting, that tongue of his flattening and cradling him. Back up, slowly, a few passes over the tip, then swallowing him down again, several times over. It was amazing, desperate and determined all at once and Jack was just lost in the feeling right now. But sometimes he wondered where exactly Brock had learned to suck dick the way he did.

He had been as uptight and hypersensitive about his masculinity when Jack first met him as he was now, pent up, beautiful little asshole, who gave the most incredible blowjobs and loved getting fucked, hard - he knew what he was doing and what he wanted a lot for someone who refused to think of himself as a ‘faggot’. 

But whatever, right now, Jack, who had a habit of biting back and breath-holding during sex until climax, leaned more firmly on his supporting arm and shuffled the back of his thighs on the marble pool side, to give some impression of participation: Brock liked a good face-fucking and this was all very much Brock pro-actively devouring Jack. Jack kneaded the back of Brock's head and neck in time to the waves of sensation, which made Brock hum with pleasure through his nose-breathing snuffles. Brock was doing ‘something nice’ in the way he did best. 

Jack let him take control, let the build up take control and shuddered on the pool edge as he came, “oh, fuck...oh god, baby…” he curled forward over Brock, his thighs tightening around his waist and lifting the smaller man out of the water more as he collapsed back on the poolside with a loud groan.

Brock snuffled and chuckled and swallowed noisily, bent over the pool edge and still clamped on Jack’s softening dick. He stayed like that for a minute while Jack lay breathing heavily on the warm stone paving. Brock could feel little tremors running through Jack’s body and he was content, gulping happily and getting his own breath back, wiping his nose over Jack’s soft tawny curls and resting his forehead on Jack’s smooth solid lower belly.

“Glad you came?” asked Jack, breathlessly, sprawled on the warm tiles, tingling all over.

“I didn’t come yet,” mumbled Brock, giving his mouth a last wipe over Jack’s pubic hair and raising his head with an irresistible grin.

“You just wait til I get my hands on you,” murmured Jack, his vacation off to a blissful start beneath sunshine and Brock.


End file.
